The Adler Tavern
by TheWorldIsACesspoolOfImbeciles
Summary: Welcome to the Adler tavern, second home of Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and Marquis de Lafayette. Home also to the unfortunate barmaid Elisabeth Adler, who has to deal with all of their headache-inducing songs and antics. (Stay off the tables!) It is not a good day. Rated T for later content. First two chapters published by Rainlight2427, and adopted by ME!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! These first two chapters were written entirely by Rainlight2427, and everything else by me. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hamilton.**

* * *

Elisabeth (Lissa for short) Adler was not having a good day. Not in the least. As if to accentuate this point, a drunken blonde man in a tattered coat smashed his glass against the table.

"Another!" he roared. Men were brutes, but drunken ones were _savages._ Lissa sighed and brought him a new drink.

"You're paying for that glass, you know," she told him. The man ignored her.

"Aaayyy, pretty laaady," slurred another, "a drink for my friend here..." He clapped yet another man on the shoulder. The new man looked slightly uncomfortable and stiff.

"I'm okay, thanks," he said quickly.

 _He's new to New York City,_ mused Lissa to herself, _not many come down to this part of town to reject a drink._

There was another crash, and she winced and hurried over to the scene of disaster.

"My apologies," said the man in the red coat coldly. Lissa swore under her breath, but daren't ask for money for the shattered glass. She contented herself with cursing all redcoats and King George III under her breath. Ever since the redcoats had been quartered at her father's tavern, quality of life had run rapidly downhill.

The door swung open. Lissa grit her teeth and forced her lips into a passable smile to greet the newcomer. The smile instantly turned into a grimace when she heard who it was.

"A y-yo, y-yo, yo: what time is it?" shouted a gleeful voice

"Laurens," she said, forcing her the corners of her mouth into a smile again, "it's nice to see you. Don't you even _think_ about climbing the tables again. You know what will happen."

He ignored her. Two more figures appeared in the doorway. "SHOWTIME!" they shouted just as gleefully back.

Lissa massaged her temples. What a day.

One of the men leaned over and whispered in another's ear; "Like I said..."

Laurens ignored him. "Showtime, showtime, yo! I'm John Laurens in the place to BE! A-two pints of Sam Adams, but I'm workin' on three!"

Someone snorted at this. John Laurens never _, ever_ , had gotten to three. He ignored them. ("He has rather selective hearing doesn't he?" Lissa had asked upon meeting him. Everyone had ignored her.)

"Those redcoats don't want it with me, 'cause I will pah-chica-pah, chica- _pah_ these Scots 'til I'm free!"

A group of men in the corner began muttering amongst themselves, slightly menacingly. They were interrupted by a man with crazy hair and a French accent. He climbed onto the table and began sing-shout at the top of his lungs.

"Eh oui, oui, mon ami, je 'mappelle Lafayette! The—"

Lissa shoved him with all her might (which, discouragingly enough, seemed to make no difference). "Off the table! NOW!"

Without stopping his song thing (Lissa didn't know _what_ to call it) he climbed gracefully down to finish his last phrase.

"I came from afar to say bonsoir to the king, 'casse toi' who's the best? C'est moi."

Lissa glared at him. "Stay off the tables." she growled. He waved her off to watch the last man's part.

"Brrah! Brrah! I am Hercules Mulligan up in it, lovin' it, yes I heard your mother say 'come again!' Lock your daughters and horses; of course, it's hard to have intercourse over four sets of corsets!" yelled Mulligan. Lissa felt her eye twitch.

"Wow," muttered someone.

"No more sex—"

"Liar," muttered someone else.

"No more _sex_ ," repeated Laurens, slightly annoyed. "Pour me another brew, son, let's raise a couple more to the Revolution!"

The group of whispering men in the corner rose. Lissa slammed down a new glass for Laurens.

"Wrong. _Gender_." she snapped. He looked a little guilty, but not too guilty.

"Uhh...Well if it ain't the prodigy of Princeton college!" He recovered quickly.

"Aaron Burr!" chimed in Mulligan.

"Give us a verse, drop some knowledge!"

Burr sniffed. "Good luck with _that_ , you're taking a stand! You spit, I'mma sit. We'll see were we land."

The others booed him.

Lissa wondered if they somehow coordinated their rhyming songs beforehand.

"Burr, the Revolution's imminent; what do you stall for?" protested Laurens.

Burr's friend (not much older than Lissa, really) spoke up, albeit slightly timidly, "If you stand for nothing Burr, what do you fall for?"

He was instantly surrounded. "Who are you?" asked Laurens.

"Who are you?" asked Mulligan.

"Who are you?" asked Lafayette.

Lissa felt a headache begin to throb.

One of the men in the corner stood and made his way to the group that was loudly proclaiming their independence from Britain.

Lissa really hoped he wouldn't start a fight.

He towered over Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette. And Burr's friend, too, because Burr had conveniently disappeared after his warning.

"So," said the man slowly, "we have here three patriots and a Frenchman," he laughed. "I wonder what they are up to, eh?"

Lissa kept a wary eye on them, frying pan at the ready.

The rest of the men stepped behind the challenger, outnumbering the tiny revolutionary crew. Burr's friend (Lissa really needed to found out what his real name was) glared at them. The first man grabbed his collar. Burr's friend punched him in the jaw and all hell broke loose. Lissa hurried over.

"What is going on?" she demanded as they all paused a moment to take in the new potential threat. "If this is only a misunderstanding, _take it outside_." She reinforced this by smacking her palm with her cast iron frying pan. Lissa hoped that this would work, because if she could't intimidate all of them to get out, she would have no way to stop a tussle.

The man in redcoat stepped up to her. "I would stay out of this," he advised, not unkindly.

"Thank you, but I will see no drunken brawl in my father's tavern." she replied stiffly, and turned back to the adversaries.

To her relief, they two parties glared at each other and retreated. Maybe her day would get better after all.

Looking back, Lissa should have known better than to tempt Fate.


	2. Chapter 2

"I AM NOT THROWING AWAY MY SHOT!"

Lissa looked up apprehensively. Not _again_. Two songs in one day? This had to be some kind of record.

Burr's friend hopped onto a table enthusiastically. "I AM NOT THROWING MY SHOT!"

Lissa felt absolute, unreasonable _rage_ course through her veins. How many times did she have to emphasize? Her one rule: _stay OFF the tables_. Did they have any idea how hard it was to clean filthy boot prints from table tops? She _worked_ to unleash the gleam of the wood, and they decide to just wipe their feet on the counter? There were plenty of other places to wipe their shoes, you know.

Lissa stood and made her way over to the loud group to clear any misconceptions about the rules of the tavern.

"HEY YO, I'M JUST LIKE MY COUNTRY—I'M YOUNG, SCRAPPY AND HUNGRY—"

" _WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOUNG MAN?"_ howled a familiar voice. Lissa's felt her hopes soar. Father was back.

"I AM NOT THROWING AWAY MY SHOT!" was his only response. Lissa grinned—she no longer had to chase crazy men off pieces of furniture.

Her father sighed. "Lissa—I'm exhausted. Take care of that insanity." he said, waving his hand in their vague direction. Lissa felt her heart drop.

"Father, please, I—"

He groaned and passed a hand over his eyes. "Not _now,_ Lissa."

"I'MMA GET A SCHOLARSHIP TO KING'S COLLEGE!"

She began to fight her way to the table.

"I PROBABLY SHOULDN'T BRAG, BUT _DAG_ , I AMAZE AND ASTONISH!"

Lissa, who was _not_ amazed or astonished, had the wind nearly knocked out of her slight body as someone's elbow swung into her chest.

"THE PROBLEM IS, I GOT A LOT OF BRAINS BUT NO POLISH!"

She took a few deep breaths, seriously wondering if he was disturbed in the mind.

"I GOTTA HOLLER JUST BE HEARD; WITH EVERY WORD, I DROP KNOWLEDGE!"

Lissa personally felt that she could have heard him perfectly well without him screaming his lungs out.

"I'M A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH, A SHINY PIECE OF COAL!"

This went on for a while. He had begun to speak of sparks and flames among various other things that made little sense, when Lissa finally broke through the circle that enclosed the table (well, he was using it as a pedestal, sooo...).

"What do you think you are _doing?_ " she asked, all energy drained.

"Erm..." He climbed off the table sheepishly.

* * *

"WE ARE THE A-L, E-X, A-N, D, E-R, WE ARE MEANT TO BE!"

Lissa felt like screaming back at them. They had better not climbed on the furniture _again_. Why do men do things like this? It was getting ridiculous! Life was hard enou—

"OI! You there! More liquor!"

She began to make her way to the kitchen for more ale.

"Don't walk away from me—I _said_ get us some more liquor! Are you deaf?"

Lissa seethed, but held her tongue. Men were idiots. Where exactly did he think she was going?

* * *

Evening fell, and the door burst open. The King's Soldiers swarmed in, tired from the day's work, but ready, nonetheless for a few (or more) pints of ale.

"I may not live to see our glory," began the man called Hamilton.

"I may not live to see our glory," repeated the other three, all glaring at the King's men, who were oblivious to their rude stares.

"But I will gladly join the fight," said Hamilton. Lissa wondered if they were purposely attempting to antagonize to Redcoats. Unfortunately, if their previous conduct was any indication, that was _exactly_ their intention. She could only hope that all four of them were too drunk for the soldiers to take seriously.

"And if our children hear our story—" Lissa nearly laughed aloud. Children? Who in their right mind would repro— _no_. Lissa would not let her mind wander there.

"They'll tell the story of tonight..."

She supposed the melody could be considered pretty, if you did not take into account the slightly nasal quality about Hamilton's voice.

"Let's have another round tonight!" roared Mulligan, instantly shattering Lissa's temporary serenity. Naturally. How long did she expect them to go without liquor? Men nearly always ended up wanting three things: freedom, alchohol, and women.

Lissa set the pitcher of ale down.

Laurens grinned impishly. "I got to three pints!" he announced a little drunkenly.

Mulligan looked up in disbelief. " _You_ got to three?"

"We oughtta celebraaatee!" he slurred.

Mulligan was gleeful. "Here, drink more!"

"Ookkkaaayy!"

Lissa sighed. Laurens was most definitely going to wake up with one nauseating hangover the next day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Greetings! So, this is a milestone for me; this is the first chapter actually written entirely by me! (Well, I had help from Rainlight2427 and Catbludger3903...Whatever...)**

 **Hope you enjoy! Note: I don't own Hamilton.**

* * *

It was market day. Lissa woke up and changed into her clothes, gazing regretfully at her inviting bed. But alas! Duty called, and though she was not looking forward to elbowing her way through thick crowds, there would be no food if she did not answer the cries of responsibility.

Lissa groaned and went down stairs, taking her sweet time on every step. Her father would have none of that. "Come Elisabeth! Look lively and step quick—it's market day!"

She took the basket reluctantly and stepped out into the cool September air.

A few soldiers nodded at her in recognition as she waved amiably. Market day was not _too_ bad, she supposed, when crowds were thinned out as they were today.

Lissa turned the corner and arrived at the market. This was truly some of the noisier parts of town, with vendors of all kind bawling out their wares.

"CLOTHES! Clothes, any old clothes for sale? Or hare-skins? Or rabbit-skins? Any old clothes for sale!"

"Who'll buy my roses? Who'll buy my posies? Who'll buy my lilies, ladies fair?"

"TASTE AND TRY BEFORE YOU BUY! FINE RIPE PEARS! TASTE AND TRY BEFORE YOU BUY! FINE RIPE PEARS!"

"Tuppence! Tuppence for fresh-caught mackerel! NOW THEN, tuppence! Tuppence for fresh-caught mackerel!" Lissa picked out the fishmonger's familiar bellow. He was always ready to cut a good deal for her.

She approached. "How are you, Benedict? Is business good?" She smiled coyly. "Good enough for a tiny discount for a poor girl?"

He laughed. "Ah, but of course they send women. The people know that Benedict's one weakness: he is far too generous to the gentle-ladies of the court, or at least the ones who could belong there!" He sighed. "Unfortunately, not all share my views on our beloved king, God bless him."

She cocked an eyebrow. Lissa knew _exactly_ what kind of people he was talking about. In fact, the tavern was frequently used as a gathering place for these people, who had an annoying penchant for chanting their motto as loud as they possibly could.

"Well, I should hope that that the misfortune of the king should stay with the king, and not be relegated to an honest fisherman, who would sacrifice a good price for a pretty face? Name your price."

He sighed, with creased, care-worn features. "I wish I could do better for you, Lissa, but my sister lies ill in bed, and like I said, business has not been faring well—"

"Think nothing of it," she cut him off. "I know your sister. Don't worry."

He looked grateful, and pondered his wares. "I suppose I _could_ give a minor discount, but it would not be much, you understand," he said, almost desperately.

Lissa felt a pang of sympathy for him. "I—I thank you for your generosity, Benedict."

"It's no problem at all."

* * *

By the time Lissa was ready to leave, the sky was washed in a pretty orange, with a darker red dimming the horizon. Most people had begun to close up shop, but as she neared a dock, an angry crowd began thickening. What their object of disgust was, Lissa could not tell, but what they were chanting made the blood in her veins nearly freeze.

"Tar him! Feather him! TAR HIM! FEATHER HIM! TAR HIM! FEATHER HIM!"

Lissa struggled through the crowd. Which unfortunate person had upset this throng? A terrified looking tea merchant stood on the gangplank of a ship, the only obstruction between the angry horde and the British ship, which seemed to be in risk of being vandalized and stolen from. Someone pushed past her angrily. She turned and saw a figure rush to the aid of the trader.

"What is the meaning of this?" thundered a voice that she knew too well, a voice that she always picked out from the crowd because he would always give a discount to any pretty face, a voice that she knew to have a sister sick in bed... "For shame! You cannot pay for the tea, so you throw it away? This is absurd! This is a mob! This is unjus—"

Someone shouted, "YOU DARE SPEAK OF INJUSTICE TO _US?_ " and the masses roared in agreement. To Lissa's horror, she noticed that they had pressed forward. "TAR HIM! FEATHER HIM! TAR HIM! FEATHER HIM!"

"Stop this nonsense at _once!_ " cried Benedict frantically.

Lissa decided to interfere before it got _too_ out of hand. She began to step forward when someone rudely pulled her back into the crowd.

"What the—who— HEY! _You!"_ she snapped as she found herself face to face with a personage (well, a trio, technically) that she _really_ did not want to deal with at the moment.

"What are _you_ doing here?" demanded Laurens.

She sputtered indignantly. "It's market day, you absolute _moron_ _!_ And—"

"Yes, but what are you doing _here?_ " he repeated.

"Well, if you haven't noticed, a friend of mine is about to be tarred and feathered, so if you'll excuse me, I will be stepping in—"

"You're _friends_ with the tory?" cut in Laurens (for the second time!) disbelievingly as Mulligan tutted disapprovingly behind him. Lafayette merely looked a little amused.

"Yes I _am,_ " snapped Lissa angrily. "So get out of—"

The rioters screeched their enjoyment as the first merchant tried to escape and failed, only enticing the crowd to further humiliate them. "Please, stop," whispered Benedict. "My sister—she has no one to care for her, and she wou—"

The leader laughed as the horde jeered. "Y'hear that? Well y' know what," he leaned down to speak to the tea merchant and the fisherman. "I guess your sister'll have to do without her brother for a night. JUSTICE WILL BE DEALT TO THESE TORIES!" and the assembly crowed their approval.

Laurens snorted as Lissa struggled her way into the solid wall of people. "Good luck," he called sardonically after her, "you're gonna need it if you wanna help your friend _and_ survive this swarm."

"Well, thanks for the help..." grumbled Lissa as a large brawny fellow wielding a rolling pin knocked her over in his enthusiasm.

A few shrill cries echoed from the very front, and Lissa's heart sank. She finally pushed her way to the front, far too late, and witnessed the final moments of the scene.

Benedict, now a nearly unrecognizable figure of black dripping tar, lay in agony on the ground as feathers were strewn about him. He caught Lissa's eye and sent a nonverbal plea for help, and in that moment Lissa made up her mind.

"Stop!" It was a pitiful little cry, but it did its job. The crowd parted and she felt her heart beat quickly. There was only one thing to do: continue. "Stop!" she said again, but louder. "W—Would you, honest tradesmen, unjustly punish one of your own because of the King's crimes? Would you humiliate one of your own in the name of pride? You crusade under the guise of freedom, and yet you do not give others the freedom of their own opinion! Yes, the King has made and done terrible things to the colonies, but would you return in kind to someone else entirely, someone innocent as—no more innocent than the colonies? I _know_ some of you, and I _know_ that you have wives—children, even! Do you want to be remembered as the husbands and fathers that attacked an honest man who did _nothing_ to you?"

The crowd began to murmur, and Benedict looked slightly hopeful. Then someone shouted, "Nature dispenses with a sin so far that it becomes a charity, if the cause is a good one!" A few murmurs of assent ran through the crowd.

Someone pulled Lissa discreetly back into the sea of men. "What are you _d_ _oing?_ " demanded Laurens in a whisper. "You're going to kill yourself!"

Lissa fought the urge to scream at him. Instead, she laughed in his face. "You _hypocrite._ "

"I am _not_ a hypocrite."

"How are you not a hypocrite? Go away."

They persisted stubbornly, and Lissa was reminded of the many times that she had to kick them off furniture; they just would not listen. As the crowd carried their victims away, Lissa glared at the trio. Laurens glared back.

"What would you have me do? Leave my friend to the mercy of a crowd of brutes? Right, because that's happening." She scoffed.

"Like I said earlier, you are _friends_ with a tory?"

"He's a good person! Which, by the way, is far more than _you_ can say!" she snapped. "And you two," she wheeled around to face the others. "What are all of you doing here, anyway?"

Lafayette looked vaguely uncomfortable.

"FIGHTING FOR FREEDOM, THAT'S WHAT!" hooted Mulligan loudly. A few stragglers looked his way warily. Somebody crossed the street to the opposite side.

If there had been a desk, Lissa would have head-desked then and there. She settled for a facepalm. Why, oh why, did the most obnoxious people show up at the most inconvenient times?

* * *

 **Did you like? Yes, no? Also, what should happen in the next chapter? Leave it in your reviews (I will probably update quicker—reviews are inspirational! They are like food for the mind! Mind-food! Like, have a review hamburger! A criticism-salad! Spaghetti sprinkled with vowels! Nom, nom, nom! And—and that got really weird...Okay, I'll stop...)!**

 **BYE! ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everybody! Thank you to all the reviewers... To Sophilagirl21 and Guest: thanks! To chocolate15chip and Hamfan09: ermmm...I don't really know for three reasons. One, I don't exactly know how, two, all the ones I've seen are absolute crap, three, ummm...This is awkward—I don't remember what my third reason was...Anyway, I doubt it, but as Shakespeare says, "Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt" (Measure for Measure).I don't know what else to say, so let us continue!**

 **Disclaimor: I do not own Hamilton.**

* * *

"Go away."

"Where the hell are you going?"

"None of your business. Go away." It was darkening as Lissa hurried to where Benedict and his sister lived. Lafayette, Mulligan, and Laurens strode alongside her.

"But where are we—"

"We?" asked Mulligan. Laurens spun around indignantly.

"Yes, you're coming too!" he snapped.

"You are very much mistaken in that notion, John Laurens," muttered Lissa, "you are also _very_ close to being slapped acoross the face," she added threateningly.

"Nope!"

He dodged a blow, earning a glare.

"What is wrong with you?" she demanded furiously.

"Nothing's wrong with _me_ ," protested Laurens. He blinked twice, as her exact words sunk in. "Hey, you used my first name!"

"Mmm, to be fair, she _did_ use it with your last name," Lafayette pointed out. Lissa considered making a run for it, but discarded the idea. She was outnumbered, and laden with the heavy basket.

"Where are we going?"

"Is your strategy to annoy me until I answer?"

"Uhh...no?"

"Where _are_ we going?" asked Mulligan curiously.

"Not you too!"

"Well, we—"

Mulligan coughed loudly.

"— _most_ of us—"

Lafayette opened his mouth to speak.

"— _most_ of us," repeated Laurens pointedly, "are going to stick like glue, so you might as well tell us."

" _Fine,_ " Lissa snapped, "we are going to visit the tory that was tarred and feathered. Remember him? Benedict—"

"You call the _tory_ by his first name?" Laurens was indignant.

"—has siblings that he provides for, and since he is, at the very least, incapacitated, I—my father and I, I mean—have decided to provide a meal for his family."

"For _who_ now?" It was Mulligan, this time, that looked slightly incredulous.

"If you were paying attention, Mulligan, then you would know that I'm referring to Benedict and—"

"Who's that?"

"The _tory_ that she tries to seduce every market day," said Laurens grumpily.

"I do _not!_ " interrupted Lissa angrily. "Anyway, my father and I have decided to provide his family with a meal."

"Oh."

They neared a few seedy docks. Lissa spoke up. "We're almost here. Now leave."

"Nope!"

"Go away."

"Nope!"

She sighed and let them follow. If the three really wanted to be attacked with a frying pan, Lissa wasn't about to object.

* * *

"Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four," she counted the faded numbers on the doors, most of which had been worn away by the years.

When she reached the door marked thirty-nine, she knocked lightly. There was a moment of tense silence, and the door cracked open, and a voice called out, "We are taking no visitors at the moment, if you please."

Mustering all of her courage, she murmured discreetly, "It's alright, it's me—it's Lissa."

The door opened wider and a pair of restless blue eyes peered back at her. "Oh, it _is_ you," breathed the voice. "Come in."

Her greeter was Hester Irwin, Benedict's ten year old sister. She held in one arm a baby no more than a year old, and clutched the hand of another sibling, a curly-haired six year old boy. Two young girls, about four and seven, cowered behind her, frying pan at the ready.

Lissa cleared her throat. "Umm, I brought a few people with me. Is it alright for them to enter as well?"

Hester's dark head bobbed as she nodded silently. Laurens stooped to enter the low doorframe. He grinned roguishly. "The name's John Laure—"

He was interrupted by a thump and muffled swearing in French. It appeared that Lafayette had failed to bend low enough to accommodate the door. One of the little girls, the four year old, let out a tiny giggle.

"Eh, you think that is funny?" asked Lafayette, slightly disgruntled.

"Yes," Mulligan automatically replied. The little girl nodded shyly; Lafayette looked a little embarrassed.

"Oh," he said.

Lissa cleared her throat again and set down the basket. "I brought dinner for your family," she murmured quietly to Hester. Hester nodded gratefully and took it.

"Thank you for everything. I heard that you tried to stop them—the mob, I mean," said Hester.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more," said Lissa, a little regretful. "Is Benedict alright? How is he doing? Can I see him?"

Hester looked crestfallen. "I wish I could help you in that respect, but I'm afraid that he wants to see nobody right now. Says he's mortified. My brother can be a vain man sometimes."

"You're sure that he doesn't want to see _anybody_ right now?"

Hester nodded. "He made it very clear."

* * *

By the time Lissa arrived home, the sky was a darkened blue, with a few enterprising stars beaming down. Inside, a few loiterers lingered, reeking of alcohol. Setting her empty basket down in the kitchen, she sat down in a nearby chair, and put her head in her arms and let out a groan.

"Hello, pretty Liss'!" chirped her father as he entered, oblivious to her misery. Lissa gave another muffled groan. "It's time for dinner preparations to commence! Come, be up and merry—dinner is on it's way!" He sang out the last part through the door to the soldiers trooping in. They gave a hearty cheer. "Come," cried her father again, seizing her by the arms and dragging her out of her chair, "The King's men are waiting!"

Lissa forced herself awake. "Fine," she groused, stalling. As she began to prepare some food, her father came back into the kitchen. "Now, Elisabeth, that won't do! Smile a little—be happy for our soldiers!" He prodded her a bit. She pulled the corners of her mouth up into a tiny smile. "There, isn't that better? You look much better when you smile, my girl."

"Soo...you want me to be happy so that I'll smile so that I can...attract more customers?"

"Yep!"

"You are far too happy right now."

"Who says there's too much happiness in a man?" He asked, and hummed to himself as he strode off.

* * *

 **Well that is it for now...see ya! Remember to review, follow, and favorite!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey all! So I guess this isn't ending...Thank you all! *Sob* You guys are so great.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hamilton. :(**

* * *

"Come," insisted Lissa's father. "'Twill be a wonderful opportunity for you to get out, find a suitor, make friends, _and_ make money! Isn't that extraordinary? It surely isn't every day that you can do three things at one time! Not two, but three birds with one stone!"

She cracked open an eye. "Father, it's not yet five o'clock. In the _morning._ What in Heaven's name are you talking about?"

He stared at her as if she had grown a third eye. "What am I talking about? What am I talking about? What do you mean, 'What am I talking about?' Oh, just the thing that every proper young lady—"

"—Or improper young lady as well—" muttered Lissa.

"—in the noble city of New York ought to know about. 'What am I talking about,' indeed!" He let out a graceless snort.

"And I—"

"And _you,_ my proper—"

"—Improper—" she coughed—

"—young lady, are going to attend."

"But what?"

"I just told you!"

"...No, Father, you didn't."

He looked astonished. "I didn't? I'm sure I did, sometime..."

"Fa- _ther."_

"Alright, alright. You're going to the Winter's Ball!"

"But only the wealthy attend."

"And the not-so-wealthy serve," finished her father.

 _Ah,_ thought Lissa, _so that's how I'm going._

* * *

 _Two Weeks Later_

Lissa nervously smoothed her skirts out. While it was certainly not her first time to serve in an unfamiliar place, it was still yet unfamiliar and therefore frightening.

Alright, it was her second time serving in an unfamiliar place. A figure stumbled up the steps to the servants' entrance, hauling his basket of fish on his back.

Wait.

"Benedict?" whispered Lissa, utterly astonished. Gone were his strong shoulders, and his once-full chestnut hair was patchy at best, red splotches of skin occasionally showing through; his honest grey eyes were downcast and lifeless, his clothes ragged and worn; he looked the very picture of dejection.

He made no reply, only grunted a greeting and moved past. Or tried to, that is. "What happened?" Lissa asked again.

This time, he looked up, and she made eye contact with him for the first time in three months. "You were there," he replied in a low voice, trembling on the last word. "You know what happened."

"I heard...rumors. Whispers of a rumor, actually. But what really happened?"

Benedict's gaze dropped to the ground once more. "A week after the tarring, a mob found our street. They burned the entire row of houses, and our neighbors turned us over to the mob. Some of the little 'uns...Well, some of 'em didn't make it. George, Anna, Patience...Those three didn't—didn't make it." He ended helplessly. "And now, well, Hester still takes care of the rest, but she wants me to become a soldier, y'know, fight for the King, everything that's good. And Imelda—the fifteen year old—she...She's earning some extra, being a— a— a Lady of the Night." He didn't elaborate, and didn't need to; Lissa knew exactly what Imelda's profession was.

"Isn't fifteen a little young to be prostituting your own sister?" sneered a voice behind Benedict. "Ugh, men disgust me. 'Oh, my life isn't going well, so good bye, little sister, into the hands of a creepy, equally disgusting pervert you go!' That should be illegal!" The speaker in question was a pretty, curly-haired girl in a pink dress, Angelica Schuyler.

Benedict looked at a loss for words. "I didn't _want_ her to—"

"Right," snorted Angelica, "'cause I'm gonna believe you after prostituting Imelda. I was friends with her, and how dare you—"

Lissa finally found her voice. "No. How dare _you._ I knew Imelda and her family for years; they never did anyone else any wrong, and now look how they are, because of your mobs. Because of the Revolution's 'Sons of Liberty.' Because of these ideals. Freedom is wonderful, don't get me wrong, but it can be accomplished without the use of rioting. Without men, so drunk with the very idea of liberty that they forget what it means. No, Angelica Schuyler, _how dare you_ pretend to think you know what it's like to really suffer. These tea taxes? They don't affect you or your family as much as it does the lower classes. Those paper taxes? You have _no_ idea how much it costs everyone else. There's a reason Imelda needed that extra money; I don't see _you_ helping your family. No, Angelica, before you try to criticize the actions of others, take a good look at yourself. It's people like you that stir up crowds, and destroy families. Please, stop. Also, this is the servants' entrance, and be on your merry way."

Benedict and Angelica gaped at her, before Angelica recovered, and flounced off.

Benedict still looked flabbergasted."How—you—what—what made you do that? Her family probably is one of the most powerful attending tonight!"

They continued up the stairs. "She was asking for it. Also, you're my friend, and so is Imelda. Don't worry, nothing will come of it."

* * *

"What?" snickered Patience, another of the serving girls. "You _told_ her that?"

"Every word," confirmed another girl, Rachel. "Lissa said every word to that Schuyler girl."

"I'm glad; Angelica never was that nice to me, 'cause I'm a Catholic, and I think the Schuylers are Anglican," said Joan.

"Girls!" barked the rather comely matron. "You're not paid to stand around, chit-chatting! Go serve our guests!"

Sighing, Lissa picked up a tray of drinks and mingled with guests. Plastering a smile on her face (she had gotten very good at it), Lissa pondered her life. Her impudence to the daughter of one of the most powerful men of New York was the talk of the evening among the servant girls, and she was equally criticized and admired for it.

It seemed a few guests knew about it too, for some cast a glare on her when she offered them drinks. Perhaps her actions were a little hasty.

On the other hand, some were ecstatic. "Look 'ere!" crowed a young man in a red coat. So, a British soldier. "We 'ave 'ere a fine young woman! Give us a pint here, Liss, and let us make a toast: To the King!"

Lissa gave them the requested pint, and edged off. "I really must be going," insisted the girl, before turning around and finding herself face-to-face with a flustered Angelica Schuyler hanging onto the arm of none other than Alexander Hamilton.

Life was just wonderful, wasn't it.

* * *

 **So, many of you are probably wondering what is up with Angelica, and I can assure you, she is not being bashed, I'm just trying to bring out another dimension of her personality. No, no, I don't hate Angelica, and she won't be a complete snob, but imagine if you heard just that rather provocative snippet of conversation. No, I do not and am not trying to advocate prostitution.**

 **On another note, I've deleted the author note chapters.**

 **Review, review, review. You know the routine.**

 **Bye!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello, world! Welcome back to the Adler Tavern! Most of the author's note is at the bottom, but I'm writing this on my phone, so if you see a weird phrase it's probably because of autocorrect.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hamilton.**

* * *

"You're going to what?" Lissa nearly shattered the delicate glass in her hand as she stared at the man before her.

Benedict shifted uncomfortably. "Liss—I told you—I can't keep living like this—I have to do something! If we don't show these rebels—these traitors—that the King will not tolerate this nonsense, who knows what will happen?"

Shaking her head, she tried to recover. "So, you're telling me because—why?"

There was silence, and he looked unfathomably guilty.

A sudden thought struck her. "Wait. Ben. What'll happen to your siblings?" Asked Lissa slowly.

He looked even more awkward than before, and he studied his battered shoes vigilantly. "Well, I—"

"No."

"Please, Elisabeth, I need someone to take care of them—I only ask you to take one of them! Please, please, please, she can help with your chores and such!"

She ran her fingers through her hair. "Fine. But only if Father allows it. And—" swallowing a lump in her throat, she leveled a glare at him, "—you better come back."

He looked into her eyes, and responded honestly, "I will. I swear to you, I will."

She sighed, and let her shoulders slump.

"Good. When are you leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow. I'll bring one of them in before I have to leave." He looked relieved that she hadn't torn him apart with refusal. This wouldn't do—keep it up, and he'd be walking all over her!

Rolling her eyes, Lissa smacked the side of his head. "You owe me. And springing this on me two days before? This cannot happen again!" Honestly, men these days! Never telling anyone anything until they need help. Next thing she knew, Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette (alright, fine—Hamilton, too) would be leaving for the Revolution...She scoffed at the very idea. Preposterous! Those four were just talk—she doubted they would ever actually go to war.

* * *

"You're going to what?" Lissa nearly screamed, this time actually breaking the glass. A few men—British soldiers—glanced over at her outburst.

"Shhhh, Liss'! You're gonna get us all in trouble!" Hissed Laurens, pressing a hand up against her mouth.

She stared.

The sun outside was beginning to set, casting its warm glow over Laurens' face, making his solemn face look all the more serious. She pushed his hand out of the way. Earlier that evening, he had cornered her and asked to speak to her in private; they had stowed themselves away in a little alcove behind the kitchen door, where she could see the main room.

"And you want me...to come. With you," repeated Lissa slowly.

"I mean, the General sent out a request for any woman to come volunteer their services as cooks—or—or—laundresses—or nurses—"

"No." The answer was flat and defiant. "This is ridiculous. Why should I go with you? I have a life here—responsibilities—and you're asking me to just abandon that? I'm taking care of a child—"

"—What?—"

"—and one of my closest friends just joined the King's Army—"

"—That's pathetic—"

"—and who dumped his sibling on me—"

"—Wait, are you talking about that Benedict fellow?—"

"—and now you're leaving?"

"—When were you pregnant?"

"No! It his sister! And don't change the subject! You're leaving!"

"Um, yes."

"This is treason. I'm probably committing treason by talking to you! I'm probably committing treason by not reporting you!" Her eyes travelled to the crowd of red-coated men around the tavern. She moved to push him away, but he caught her wrists.

"Please, Liss'! Think of all the good times—"

"Aaargh! Fine. I won't report you. But I can't—and I really mean it—leave!"

"But Liss-a! Think of it!" Laurens lowered his voice. "Just think! All those lobsters just sleeping in your house—"

"—we're a tavern—" the girl informed him in a clipped tone.

"—eating your food! Drinking your ale!"

"—And the Sam Adams. They're not the only ones," she muttered darkly.

"And they make you pay! Them!"

Lissa glanced around. "You know how dangerous it is to say that here, right? Please stop talking! You're gonna get us both arrested!" She looked down. "Let go of me."

He looked resigned. "C'mon, Liss'. You're the only girl—woman—female—whatever— I trust around here. Please?"

Her eyes met hers, glinting defiantly in the dusky light.

"No."

* * *

This was insane.

There really was no other word for it.

This really was insane.

It was the dead of night, and raining buckets, because of course it was. Lissa pulled the hood more securely around herself as she stepped out into the streets. Both Ben and she had agreed to make her promise as inconspicuous as possible so as not to embarrass her father, but this? This was ridiculous.

Lissa wandered down the streets she knew so well, feeling her way through the winding, twisting alleys, praying that she wouldn't meet anyone on the way. Fortunately, the rain seemed to deter any pests, human or otherwise, and she finally arrived at a tiny rundown shack. It was fitting, she supposed, in a sick, twisted sort of way. Benedict's career had been nothing to boast about before the "incident"; neither was his house. But to defend one man against a mob, to stand strong against a crowd, had wrecked both to the point that both were unrecognizable...

She knocked.

Benedict appeared in the door, his large, lanky build framed in the golden square of light that poured from behind him. In his arms, he cradled a small bundle, a little girl, about four years old. "It's Elizabeth," whispered Benedict. Behind him, clutching the back of his coat, stood the curly-haired, six year old boy. "Liss', thank you. I know that this is a huge favor, but—"

She sighed. "What do you need?"

He faltered slightly. "George has nowhere to stay—"

"Fine. Give him to me. And you—you better come back, you hear me? You come back to us. We—they need you."

"I'll come back," he whispered. "I will."

* * *

 **Dun, dun, dun!**

 **So sorry for not updating! Like I said, I've kinda been at a loss for inspiration, but you guys helped me through it! Keep it coming! I do need help with this fic, you know.**

 **Review! Please! It's hard to write if you don't review!**

 **Review, review, review!**


End file.
